


Not Such a Dichotomy After All

by saint_troll



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Cryptozoology, Depression, First Time, Hunter!Cas, M/M, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-23
Updated: 2013-12-23
Packaged: 2018-01-05 18:52:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1097435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saint_troll/pseuds/saint_troll
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean encounters a quirky hunter named Cas. What Dean didn't expect was to fall in love so thoroughly with the blue-eyed man...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [2013 Dean/Cas Secret Santa Exchange](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/dcss2013). The minimum required word count was only 1,500. My muse, uh, got kinda outta hand. o.O
> 
> Based on a concept that certain family lines are destined to or made to be vessels for specific angels. The Novak family line is Castiel’s.

Cold weather in general is bad enough but Idaho in the middle of winter was Goddamn miserable. Dean has the heat jacked up as high as baby could get it and even with a scarf wrapped around his neck and thick fingerless gloves on his hands, he’s still freezing his ass off. Sam would’ve been a better choice for this job, frickin’ sasquatch that he is. They didn’t often do jobs separately but his brother had been adamant about hanging back and digging into another round of demon lore. Dean as much as figured it was another dead end on saving his ass from the lake of fire. He was pretty sick of arguing with Sammy about it. Keeping busy was about the only thing that staved off the bone deep terror that had started to creep under his skin when he thought about how close to the end of his crossroads deal that he was; how close to eternity in the pit he really, really was. 

Bringing one of his hands up to his mouth, Dean huffs out a breath of hot air onto it and curses the cold again. At least, it would be hot in hell right? Anyway, there’d been three unexplained disappearances in Rexford over the last six months; all of them happening along the shoreline of Palisades Reservoir. He has to admit that it constantly amazes him how often game hunters end up at the teeth end of every kind of monster that roamed the Earth. You’d think as hunters that they’d have better sense. Then again, there were hunters and then there were hunters.

Dean slows as he crossed into city limits. A handful of gas stations and fast food restaurants greet him in the season’s latest style; snow covered neon. All three of the missing vics had been headed out of town on a weekend hunting trips. So, Dean figures that nixes any of the places on his right; all in-bound and all quick and easy gas stops. Scanning over the businesses on his left, he notices an older box shaped building tucked behind a Gas’n Sip. Bob Ward’s Sporting Good; a faded sandwich board sign announced that the start of hunting season and advertised quality gear. It’s as good as any place to start. 

Traffic’s pretty dead, so Dean cuts across the road and pulls in front. He let Baby idle as he watches a few people make their way inside. Glancing down at his own clothes, Dean sighs. He’s going to stand out like a sore thumb. He loosens his scarf from around his neck. It’s probably best to get the ordeal over with. He can try to chat up a couple locals about the disappearance. And if nothing else, he can stock up on some rounds; maybe find a decent blade to add to the arsenal.

Nodding at a few of the other shoppers as he saunters in with his half frozen hands shoved into his pockets, Dean all but groans when the wall of heat hit him as the automatic doors slid open. He’d been half worried it’d be as cold inside as it was out. Making a beeline for the knife display, Dean ducks around a least a half dozen camo-covered hunters on the way. He lets out a low whistle upon catching sight of their Gerber display. Shit was not exactly cheap but it was sturdy... and pretty; always a good quality to have in a weapon he believed. Grinning to himself, Dean sidles up to the glass letting his eyes roam over the dark, jagged edges of each blade. 

 

“Please tell me you aren’t eyeballing the so-called [Apocalypse Kit](http://www.bobwards.com/GERBER-Apocalypse-Kit-DMF-Manual-Blade-and-Gator-Pro-Machete-90288).”

Dean does a double take at the sound a voice spoken so close to his shoulder. He hadn’t even heard any one approach. Much to his own surprise, it isn’t another camo-laden redneck either. In fact, the guy that’s just spoken to him probably stands out worse than he does. Dean can’t be sure but between the long, beige trenchcoat and the black slacks that begin when the coat ends; the dude is quite possibly wearing a suit. Probably doesn’t look half bad in one either, he muses taking in the guy’s dark hair and strong jaw. “Don’t tell me you are.” Dean replies with a light laugh.

The guy pinches a face and shakes his head. His fingers dance over the glass counter as he draws a path to what Dean has to admit is probably one of the sexiest [uppercut fixed blades](http://www.bobwards.com/GERBER-Uppercut-Fixed-Blade-Knife-104388) he’s ever seen. “Nice.” He can’t actually imagine anything that the likes of the guy next to him could use such a blade for, but he can’t fault his taste. He’s probably some kind of collector and Dean can get down with that. Hell, half the shit in his and Sammy’s trunk was a one time use sort of thing. 

“Right?” The guy says with a lopsided grin. He cuts his eyes at Dean. “So if not the kit… what are you looking at?” 

Dean can’t hold back the gasp of surprise that works its way out of his mouth as the guy actually looks him up and then down. There wasn’t any doubt about it, he was getting checked out… in the middle of a sporting goods store, surrounded by hicks, by a guy in a flasher coat. What was his life? Seriously? “Uh…” Dean bites his bottom lip and glances at the guy again. Should he pick something safe or go with what had actually caught his attention. He’s met with curious, blue eyes that look decades older than the man they belong to. That settles it. Honesty, it is. Well, as honest as someone in his line of work can get anyway. Mimicking the guy’s previous actions, Dean slides his fingers over the countertop until they press directly over his choice. 

“A… [Kukri machete](http://www.bobwards.com/GERBER-Gator-Kukri-Machete-104382)?” The guy half whispers in surprise as he reads the product description. “...I can see the merits. What would you use it for? Are you a collector?”

 

Half snorting at the fact that the guy had made the same assumption about him as he had him, Dean almost admits he’d be using it to decapitate a few vamps if he got so lucky. Instead, he smirks and replies with the most ludicrous thing he can think of. “Impalement Art installment I’m working on… for school.”

The guys eyebrows shoot up. “Wouldn’t a fixed blade work better for that?” 

“Probably, but the Kukri’s got style.”

Humming in agreement, the guy holds his hand out. “I’m Cas, by the way.”

Dean reaches out and grasps his hand firmly as he shakes it. “Dean.”

“So, Dean. You from Rexford? Cuz I gotta say, you don’t exactly look the type.”

“That obvious?”

Cas seems to ponder this for a moment before responding. “A bit.”

“Uh, actually…” Dean rubs his neck and tries to come up with a backstory that will match his impalement art crack. “I’m an art major over at the U. Only in Rexford to meet up with my brother this weekend… he’s real into the whole hunting thing.”

“You’re not?”

“Pretty much feel the same way about hunting as I do running…”

“...oh?”

“Only time you’ll see me doing it is if I’m being chased.”

“So, the you’d prefer to hunt only if you are… being hunted?” Cas replies in a bemused tone.

Dean shrugs. “... or generally threatened by said m… thing.”

“Uh huh.” Cas is smiling wider at him with every word. 

They’ve managed to garner a few curious but not unhappy looks during their conversation. Dean’s actually have a lot of fun with it. “How about you, Cas?” He grins.

“Well, I’m not in town to meet up with my brother to go hunting if that’s what you’re asking. He’s… not exactly the type.”

Dean means to reply that he doesn’t exactly see Cas as the type either, however, he’s interrupted. The employee manning the counter takes that exact moment to approach them and cockblock Dean’s attempts at getting to know a little more about his new friend. “You here for your order, Mr. Novak?” The employee asks.

Cas, much to Dean’s surprise, turns to the man and smiles. “Hey, Pat. Yeah. It’s in, I take it?”

“Yes, sir.” Pat squats down and unlocks a cupboard behind the counter and withdraws a box. He hands it wordlessly to Cas. “Can I get you anything else today?”

“No, this is perfect. May I pay here?”

“Of course.” Pat makes quick work of taking Cas’ money and handing him his purchase; which is quickly pocketed in his trenchcoat. “See you in a next week, Mr. Novak.”

“Have a good weekend, Pat. Tell the wife and kids hello.”

Dean is sure that he looks like a fish out of water as he gapes at the interaction. Wow, had he ever read the guy wrong. He would’ve never pegged him as a local let alone one on first name basis with a guy working a register at a sporting goods store. When Cas turns back to face him, Dean can barely stutter out a word. “You’re from here?” He finally manages.

“Yeah.” Cas smirks and reaches out to grip Dean’s elbow and steers him from the counter; rather conspicuously if he said so himself. Normally, he wasn’t one to allow such manhandling by someone he barely knows. Hell, normally he wouldn’t tolerate it from anyone. But Cas has him all cock-eyed and off balance. When they are a few feet away from Pat and other prying ears, Cas leans into his personal space. “If you really want to continue this conversation, there’s a hell of a coffee shop a few miles from here.”

If the words hadn’t conveyed the intent, the small circles that Cas’ thumb is making on the curve of his elbow do. That pretty much does it. Dean’s speechless. Not only has Cas openly checked him out in store full of good ole boys, he’s half-ass flirted with him and is now asking him out to coffee? Dude had some balls. Dean is so in. “My car’s out front.” He finally manages to mumble.

“Great! We can take it. I only live a few blocks away and it was a nice morning… so I walked.” Cas shoots him a toothy smile and heads for the exit. “That’s okay, right?”

Glancing around, Dean notices that no-one is really paying any mind to them. Maybe Cas really is a town regular here after all? Maybe they’re all used to his strange behavior. Weird. Dean hurries to shuffle after him hoping that he can blame the flush that is quickly rising to his cheeks on the temperature. 

“Which one is yours?” Cas asks as they step out into cold.. 

And Dean is back on familiar turf now. Grinning as his breath turns to steam and hangs in the air between them, he frees a hand from his coat and motions towards the Impala. “That’s my baby right there.” Sliding up to the passenger side door, he swings it open for Cas with a wink. Cas slides his eyes over the Impala’s lines almost as slowly as he had Dean earlier. Yeah, he’s pretty sure a Wendigo hunt can wait out a cup of joe; maybe more.

With a short, inquisitive tilt of his head, Cas climbs into the Impala. It’s all Dean can do to stop himself from fist pumping the air as he makes his way around the back of the car and to the driver’s side. He slips behind the wheel. “Which way was this coffee shop?”

Shifting in his seat, Cas half turns and motions for Dean to head north. “Just head that way… it’s a little corner place about ten or so blocks down.”

Ten blocks hardly seems enough time to start up a conversation, so Dean drives in silence until they come up to a stop light. A small brick building sits to the left of the crossroads. “That it?” It has the look anyway. 

“Yeah. Turn here.”

Dean does so when the light changes; reading the sign as he enters the parking lot. “Le Petit Outre? French? Really?”

Cas laughs. “No idea what it really means. Local lore is a bit split.”

Lore, huh? “Yeah?” He asks conversationally.

“One camp claims it means: a little outrageous. The other: a small addition.” Cas shrugs as they pull into a parking spot and climb out. “In any case, their artisan bread is amazing.”

“I thought we were here for coffee.” Dean teases.

“It’s not half bad either.” Cas winks at him over baby’s hood and motions for Dean to follow him inside. 

***

It only takes a few minutes to place their order and find a seat. Dean opts for a standard double espresso. He couldn’t repeat Cas’ order if he tried. Something with soy and some fancy italian words for what he assumed was a lot of steamed milk and flavor shots; the kind of thing Sammy drinks when they aren’t trying to pull an all nighter out of their ass. Though, he has to admit, the chocolate pastry thing Cas had gotten didn’t look half bad.

“Cozy.” Dean observes as they settle down at a two person table against one of the storefront windows. He can feel the cold just barely starting to seep in through the glass. Still, it’s a far cry better than a cup of gas station brew, or worse complimentary motel room coffee.

“It is, isn’t it?” A contented looking smile spread across Cas’ face as he glances around the shop before his attention finally lands back on Dean. “So, Dean, what did you want to know?”

“Excuse me?”

“That’s why we’re here, right? You wanted to get to know more about me?”

Blushing, Dean clears his throat. “Uh, yeah.” He taps his foot twice under the table before replying. “Kinda surprised me you were from around here. You don’t exactly look the type.”

Cas nods in agreement. “Rexford’s strange that way. I suppose Idaho in general really. Dichotomistic one might say.”

“Dichotomistic?” Sure, Dean’s not as stupid as some might think he is but he’s not quite up there at Sam level of nerdiness. The word sounds familiar; religious even. He just can’t place it. 

“Mmm… two distinctly different cultures. There’s the hunters, you know the mountain-man type. And then there’s the more… artistically inclined… like yourself.” Cas sweeps his gaze over Dean’s face, down his neck to his scarf, and over worn leather of his jacket.

Well, shit. Dean wasn’t artistically inclined in the slightest. He couldn’t art to save his damn life aside from a sigil here and there. His whole backstory might very well backfire on him and fast. “And you?” He inquires.

“You’d be surprised.”

You and me both apparently. “Try me.” 

Cas actually blushes and pauses before reply. “Now... you can’t laugh.”

Anyone say thing that is just asking for it. Plain and simple. “Okay.” Dean chuckles.

“Seriously!” Cas wrinkles up a napkin and tosses it across the table at Dean. “No. Laughing.”

“Alright. Alright. Mr. Mysterio…” Smiling, Dean leans forward over the table; resting on his elbows. “Surprise me.”

“I’m a Cryptozoologist.”

The smile slowly slides off of Dean’s face. “What?” That meant. No, it couldn’t.

Raising his hands in protest, Cas dares to grin back at him. “I know. I know. Most people think it’s crazy talk… but…”

“...that shit’s real?” Dean finishes.

“Actually…” Cas pauses. “Yeah.”

Dean draws his thumb over his lip as he thinks. “So… Sasquatch, Werewolves, Chupacabra… all real?” This is a test. I repeat. This is only a test.

“That and more.” 

Let’s see if the Cryptozoologist can pass the finals. “And Wendigos?”

Cas’s shit-eating grin falters; though he recovers amazingly fast. “Rugarus too.” Squinting, he pauses and waits for Dean to react. “But you know that already, don’t you? Dean, the art student from… where was it?”

Licking his lips and taking a sip of his coffee, Dean bides his time. “So, I fed you a line of bull. What was I gonna say… the kukri would be a damn fine blade to gank a nest of vamps with?”

“You’re a hunter.” Cas says plainly.

“So are you.” Dean relaxes back into his seat and gives Cas a once over. 

Humming his response, Cas polishes off his croissant before speaking again. “What are you doing in Rexford… really?”

“Job.”

“What job?”

Was this a territorial thing or what? “Three missing people in six months. A town this size? That doesn’t strike you as odd?”

Cas squares his shoulders and regards Dean with interest. “That it does…” A world weary sigh works it’s way out of the hunter. “It’s a yeti.” Cas pulls the package he’d picked up at Bob Ward’s earlier out of his pocket and places it on the table between them. “Silver hollow point. Pat knows a guy.”

Dean completely forgets the smart ass remark he’d came up with about the unlikelihood of the big bad being a huge-ass Himalayan monster when Cas mentions the bullets. His face lights up as he reaches out to run his fingers over the corners of the package. “You don’t make your own?” Shit, Dean was downright jealous. How many hours had him and Sammy spent dipping standard hollow points in silver pewter cast praying it’d be enough to gank whatever nasty they were gunning for? 

“In a pinch, sure. This way’s really much more reliable.”

Dean finally draws his attention away from the bullets and up to Cas’ face. “Did you know when you… picked me up… what I was?”

The blush returns to Cas’ cheeks when he speaks. “Honestly? No. I probably wouldn’t have… picked you up, as you called it… if I’d known.”

Dean knows without a doubt that Cas knew exactly was doing when he’d hit on him. However, he’s willing to admit that most hunters wouldn’t go as far as tapping the ass of another hunter unless the end was nigh. Shit, it was probably the main reason he himself hadn’t walked out when the truth came to light. “You hunt alone?”

“Better that way. You?”

Smart. Sam or Bobby were pretty much the only hunters he’d trust important shit to in the end. “My brother’s back a few towns; nose deep in some research. I’d figured this a Wendigo run.”

“You say that like it’s commonplace.” 

The cold blue of Cas’ gaze bears into Dean deep enough that he has to turn away. “Isn’t it?”

Cas hums in agreement. “So, you always take on Wendigos by yourself?”

“... and more.” He brags. “Usually, got Sammy with me though.”

“Sammy’s the brother?”

“Mmhmm.”

Taking a long slow drink, Cas squints and then shifts in his seat. “You got anything that could shoot a 45 cal?”

“You’re going after the abominable snowman with a revolver?!” Arching an eyebrow, Cas smirks in response but doesn’t reply. Clearly, that had been his original intention. “Damn.” Dean motions towards the package. “May I?” Setting his coffee aside, he tears into the paper and draws out an unmarked cardboard box. He slides the top open. Dean lets out a breathy whistle at the sight. Whoever Cas’ guy is, he’s a hell of a craftsman. “I think I might have a pea-shooter that could handle a few of these babies.” He replies on the offhanded chance that Cas is open to a hunting partner. “That is, if I’m invited.”

“Don’t think my night would be complete without it.” Cas teases.

And just like that, they’re back to flirting. Dean could get used to the attention. He might have already developed a taste for it, in fact. This time when he wets his lips before taking another drink of coffee, he makes sure to do it nice and slow. He can’t help but smile into his drink when he notices Cas’ eyes zero in on his mouth and stay there. 

And here he’d thought Rexford was going to be boring.


	2. Chapter 2

“You really don’t have to do this.” Dean grumbles as he flinches away from the peroxide soaked cotton ball that Cas is pressing to his eyebrow. Damn scratch had bled like a son of a bitch. There was little doubt in Dean’s mind that Yeti existed now. What they were doing stateside was a completely different story. 

“Are you always this difficult?” Cas scowls and draws the cotton along the curve of Dean’s eye socket.

“You always take the vic home with you?”

Snorting, Cas leans in and blows over the jagged incision that the Yeti had left above Dean’s eyebrow. “You aren’t the vic.”

“Yeah, well…”

“Would you just shut up and let me tend to this, hmm?” 

There’s still a sliver of humor left in Cas’ annoyed tone. Dean figures maybe he should lay off the bravado unless he really does want to end up spending another night alone in a motel room. “Fine.”

Cas’ curls his fingers under Dean’s jaw and tilts his face up. He offers a small smile when their eyes meet before shifting the hunter’s face first to the right and then to the left. “That should do it. Just let me…” He leans into and over Dean’s personal bubble as he retrieves a box of butterfly bandages from the bathroom sink counter. Cas’ tongue slips out between his lips as he gently places one of the bandages over the middle of Dean’s wound. Once he’s finished, he presses his lips together with a nod; his tongue retreating back into his mouth. “Good as new.” Grinning, he steps out from between Dean’s legs and begins to gather the used cotton balls and associated garbage.

His own gaze following the other hunter’s movements, Dean takes in the image of Cas post-hunt versus the Cas he’d met earlier that day. He’d actually been a little worried that the guy was going to hunt in his suit and trenchcoat. Honestly, as a hunter himself, he should’ve known better. Sure, the button shirt hadn’t gone anywhere but the slacks had been swapped out with a sturdy looking pair of jeans. The trench coat's replacement had been some god awful camo monstrosity. Thankfully, Cas had abandoned the bloody thing in the laundry room when they’d gotten back to his place. Clearly Rexford still had some influence on Cas’ own unique wardrobe. “...thanks.” Dean offers; his voice sounding more solemn than he’s actually feeling.

Cas stops and looks over and down at him; holding his gaze briefly. “You’re welcome.” His tone is neither mocking or rude. Holding out his hand, Cas allows a shy smile to creep across his face. “C’mon. Let’s get something to eat.”

“What? Now?” Dean snorts as he takes Cas’ hand and pulls himself up and off of the toilet seat. “It’s gotta be after two…”

“It is…” Cas doesn’t relinquish his hand. “I do have a kitchen, you know. Most houses come with them.”

Pursing his lips, Dean rolls his eyes at Cas but allows himself to be led through the living room and into the aforementioned kitchen. If they were going to discuss dichotomies, he’s pretty sure he was witnessing one. The entire house, not just the kitchen, is a far cry from any of the rooms Dean and Sam were raised in. It’s sleek, clean… and lived in. “If you don’t mind me asking, how do you afford all this? Last time I checked, hunting didn’t exactly bring in the benjamins.”

Fingers slipping from Dean’s hand, Cas abandons him by the kitchen table and heads for the refrigerator. “Honestly… my brother.”

“The one that ain’t fond of hunting?”

“Right.” Cas replies as he bends down to reach into the fridge.

“So, he’s not in… the family business… with you?” Dean frowns as he sits down.

Cas is chuckling as he kicks the refrigerator door closed with his heel; two tupperware containers in hand. “Family business?” He peels off the lids and slides one into the microwave. “No, Jimmy’s always been more of the praying sort. Everyone thought for a time that he was going to go into the ministry…”

“He didn’t?”

Turning to lean back against the countertop, Cas shakes his head. “Nah, he met a girl.”

“Explains everything…” Dean replies quietly; his thought drifting towards what few memories he has of Sam’s girl Jess. “So, your dad… he was a hunter too?”

“Cryptozoologist.” Cas teases. “Yeah, he was. And his father before him and so forth.” He widens his eyes in a mockery of fear at his own words. The microwave beeps behind him and Cas turns to retrieve the first container of food.

“Wow.” Thoughts shifting and moving around in his head, Dean takes a deep breathe. “You’d think with a lineage like that… I’d have heard of you before now.”

Cas grabs a fork from a drawer and places a dish of spanish rice in front of Dean. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Well…” He shoves the second container of food into the microwave before continuing. “Hunters haven’t always been so keen on us.”

Dean hums in surprise at how good the rice actually tastes. “You say that like you’re not one.”

“Cryptozoologist.” Cas practically sing songs.

“Right.” Dean says around a mouthful of food. “What’s the difference exactly?”

“Honestly? To paraphrase my mother… we’re the ones stupid enough to try and tell civies that every ghost in the shadow, every monster under their bed is real.”

“Do they listen?”

“Not usually.” Cas smiles as he retrieves his own food and settles across the table from Dean.

“...then there’s the whole crazy thing.”

Dean pauses and looks up at Cas at that. “Crazy thing?”

“My great-great grandfather… spoke with angels.”

“Angels?”

“Angels.”

“Man, there ain’t no such thing.”

“Myself? I’m inclined to agree with you. But, few generations back… that kind of doubt would’ve landed your ass in a pile of trouble.”

“Huh.” There’s not a whole lot Dean can add to that so he tucks into his meal with fervor. 

A few minutes pass while both men polish off their meals. Cas is quick to stand and grab Dean’s dish and silverware. “So… you have a room for the night already?” 

Dean is pretty sure the question is supposed to come off as conversational. It’s anything but; there’s a cautious rigidity to Cas’ tone that already sounds unfamiliar to his ears. “No.”

Cas shifts and moves across the kitchen until he’s looming over Dean’s sitting form. He combs his fingers through the hair along the hunter’s temple. “Offer’s open…” Cas admits quietly.

He’s not exactly sure when his heart had started to beat so loudly and insistently in his chest, but Dean is amazed that Cas can’t hear it. The way he sees it, he’s dead in a matter of months. There ain’t nothing waiting for him afterwards but the pit. The concept of sin doesn’t exactly hang over his head like a guillotine waiting to drop. Not that something like that had ever affected many of his judgements in the past. But this was a biggie. As much as he was willing to give in to a flirt here and there, he’d never actually crossed the line of hooking up with another guy. 

And he wasn’t stupid, he would’ve had to been blind to not realize that this was exactly where everything had been headed from the get go. Ears ringing as he turns his face into Cas’ touch, Dean swallows loudly as he looks up through his eyelashes at him. He tries twice to reply but the words keep getting caught in his throat. With a jerky nod, Dean pushes himself up and out of the chair.

Face to face with Cas, everything is suddenly that much more real. For what it’s worth, Cas doesn’t push for an answer. He doesn’t say anything; not at first. Instead, he reaches out and grips Dean’s hand in his own again and leads him once more through the living room and down a dark hallway. He pauses when they reach a door at the farthest end. “You don’t owe me anything… you can say no.” Cas whispers from the shadows.

“I… I know.”

Cas’ hands are on him then; reaching up and cupping the contours of Dean’s face and pulling him in. The first press of Cas’ lips against his own is anticlimactic to say the least. For all the talk of sin and stigma he’d ever heard, Dean had almost expected a jolt to cut through him at first contact. It’s not bad, but it’s not all that unlike kissing a woman either. It’s wet, warm and familiar. He leans into Cas and licks his way slowly past his lips.

They’re moving then, slow and awkward as Cas reaches behind him and turns the knob to open the door. The mixed scents of gun oil and incense fill Dean’s senses as they step inside. Cas’ hands drift down his neck and over his chest as their bodies press the door shut behind them. The first slide of the hunter’s calloused fingertips under Dean’s t-shirt draws out a low, desperate groan. The difference between Cas’ touch and a woman’s is suddenly put in stark contrast as Dean finds himself in a position very different from his usual role as the aggressor. Shivering, he swallows his hesitation and presses into the warmth of Cas’ hands.

When Cas steps back, he all but trails after him seeking out his mouth with a whimper. Cas chuckles softly and shoves at his shirt until it is tucked up into Dean’s armpits. “...off?” The hunter requests with a smile spread across his kiss-reddened lips. Lifting his arms, Dean allows him to remove the shirt without protest. It drops to the floor in near silence. His ears are ringing again when he finds the courage to meet Cas’ eyes. Despite still being mostly clothed,, he feels utterly and completely naked; vulnerable. And it’s obvious that Cas can see it from a mile away. “Hey… this is okay, right? You aren’t just agreeing to…”

Dean doesn’t let him finish that sentence. Shaking his head, he takes a steadying breath. He’s never thought any less of a girl when she’s admitted to being a virgin. Hell, most cases it inspired him to rock her world. But standing there in front of Cas facing the unknown, it was hell on his nerves. “...this is my first time.” Dean rushes to admit before it becomes yet another collection of words stuck in his throat. “...with a guy.” He adds when Cas’ eyebrows shoot up.

“And this is really how you want that to go down?” It’s not the response Dean had feared, but it’s not the one he’d hoped for either. Cas’ eyes follow the swell of his stomach, up and over his chest only to land on his face. “Dean?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, this is how I want that…” He stumbles over the exact words Cas had used. “...to happen. With you.”

“Me?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“Why not?”

“I can name a half dozen without even trying.” Cas reaches out and grips the back of his neck drawing Dean closer until their foreheads are pressed against one another.

“Look.” Dean lets out an angry sigh. “I don’t want to talk about it but… I’ve got months on the clock, tops. If there was ever going to be a guy I’d want to do… this… with. It’s you.”

Cas frowns deeply at that but he doesn’t press the issue. “Me?”

“God, don’t start that again.”

“You’re sure?”

“Positive.”

This time when Cas leans in and kisses him, Dean responds with an urgent hunger. He hasn’t stopped shaking but there is no way on God’s green earth that he’s letting that stop them now. Reaching up, he begins to unfasten Cas’ shirt button by button; shoving it off of his shoulders when the task is complete. If he’d ever been one to compare himself to other men, Dean is sure he’d feel inadequate standing next to Cas. The guy has a lean sort of muscle. He’s hard and smooth in every spot that Dean is soft. He can’t help but scrape his blunt fingernails over Cas’ stomach before dropping his hands down to coil through the belt loop of his jeans.

Cas grips his chin and tilts his head to the side when they separate for air. Within moments, he’s licking and biting along the length of Dean’s neck. Even though the sudden rush of lust and adrenaline happens every time someone ventures to explore this patch of skin, a startled gasp claws it’s way out of Dean’s throat. The grip he has on Cas’ belt loops tighten. With each curl of the hunter’s tongue, he’s pulling them closer and closer together until there is no choice but to cling to one another to maintain a center of balance.

Chuckling softly against Dean’s skin, Cas’ voice is rough and deep when he speaks. “God, you are so responsive.”

“Shut up.” Dean hisses in embarrassment; pinching his eyes shut at the surge of humiliation that the hunter’s words stir in his gut.

“Why?” Cas pulls back enough to nip at Dean’s chin. “Do you have any idea how hot you sound? How hard you are getting me?”

Mouth dry, Dean can’t find the words to respond. He’d always known he was a decent looking guy. The quick and easy attention afforded to him by the right kind of woman was proof of that. But to hear in such bare detail that he could have that kind of effect on Cas? It blew his mind. Above everything else, he was nothing more than Dean Winchester; brother to Sam and son of John. Nothing special.

Cas’ hands drift over his neck and sweep out across his shoulders to land on his biceps. And then, Dean his being directed with gentle pushes and nudges to where he assumes the bed lies. Deft fingers pry his own away from Cas’ belt loops and then he’s falling.

The shadowed visage of Cas climbing up and over him on the bed really should give him second thoughts. The man moves like an animal and he’s the predator to Dean’s prey. It should scare the hell out of him. It doesn’t. Cas shifts onto his side; not once taking his eyes off of Dean. The same lithe fingers that had cared for and mended him are now slowly taking him apart button by button as Cas shoves his way down the front of his pants.

“Fuck, Cas…” He moans; tossing his head to the side as the hunter grips the base of his cock with intent. 

The first few strokes are rough until Cas slides his thumb across the slit; inciting a needy whine from Dean’s mouth and causing him to leak all over Cas’ fingers. The slow and steady pace quickens as a symphony of shorten breathes press into Dean’s arm. The sharp sting of Cas’ teeth biting into his shoulder combined with the slip and slide of his hand moving faster and faster on Dean’s cock are making the room spin in frantic circles. Reaching out, Dean grasps anything and everything his hands can find purchase on. It doesn’t stop the spinning but it does ground him. Pumping up into Cas’ grip, Dean allows the heady mix of lust and pleasure consume him. 

"Jesus, look at you." Cas groans against his arm. 

Dean turns to face him. Catching the hunter's eyes, he sucks his own bottom lip between his teeth and exhales a shaky breath. "Cas..." 

"Yeah?"

He knows what he wants; what he needs. He just can’t find it within himself to vocalize it. "Cas..." Dean pleads.

"You have to tell me what you need." His voice thick and deep, Cas presses an open mouthed kiss to Dean’s bicep.

"Come here."

Shoving himself up onto his shoulder, Cas leans over him. "Here?" He asks with a coy smile as he tightens his grip on Dean's cock.

With a snarl, Dean releases the bedding he has gripped in his hand and buries it in Cas' hair. He has to be closer. He has to feel something. He needs more. He needs less. "Please."

"Shh." Cas cooes at him. "Shh." Leaning down, he drags his tongue over Dean's chin and then mouth. 

Surging up into the kiss, Dean sucks greedily on Cas' lips. This is exactly what he needed; a hand on his dick and a hungry mouth on his own. He could let the sensations overwhelm him. Given half a second of true abandon, he could find release. But Cas is rolling his hips desperately into Dean's hip and he's for damn sure not passing up experiencing this before he dies. 

Dean abandons Cas' hair and reaches down and to wrap his hand around the hunter's wrist. "Wait."

Cas is surprisingly pliant under Dean’s hands as he pushes the hunter’s hand off of him. Climbing onto his knees, he urges Cas to lay back on the bed. Steadfastly willing his hands to stop shaking, Dean begins to unfasten and slide Cas’s pants off. He’s greeted with the sight of dangerously long, muscular legs. Splaying his hands over the now bare thighs, he inhales twice before inching his fingers up and under the waistband of Cas’ underwear. 

Seeming to sense his hesitation, Cas lifts his hips up and slides them off with little to no fanfare. He lays back and watches as Dean’s eyes skim over his newly exposed skin. 

For what it’s worth, Dean is breathless above him. He stares down at Cas with a look that is a curious mix of awe and terror. If it were a woman beneath him, there would be no hesitation. He’d dive right in and not stop until she was pushing or pulling him off with; legs trembling and satisfied. But Cas is anything but a woman. Still, it works essentially the same way; an equal get and give of pleasure. “If I not doing something right… you have to tell me.” He whispers before leaning down to curl his tongue around the flushed head of Cas’ dick.

The taste of skin isn’t all that different; not at first. That changes when Cas groans softly; twitching against Dean’s lips. His mouth now wet with pre-cum, he decides to take the plunge and sucks Cas in inch by inch. 

The press and pull of the hunter’s fingers grasping and curling in Dean’s hair tighter and tighter are just enough feedback to get him revved up. It’s suddenly a personal challenge. He’s not going to stop until Cas is mewling above him and begging him to stop. Everything becomes that much easier, now that he’s finally ready to claim some semblance of control.

***

By the time Cas starts to claw at Dean’s shoulders, he’s giggling and grunting; his softening, over sensitive cock now wet with saliva and traces of cum. “Dean!” The hunter gasps out as he finally is able to worm his hand into Dean’s armpits and drag him up and over his prone form.

“Hi.” Dean smiles down at him. 

Cas reaches up and pinches his side playfully. “Little shit.” He breathes out with a smile. Letting his eyes drift down Dean’s body, he smirks when he finds him still hard. “Like some help with that?” He teases.

“What did you have in mind?”

Cas hums as he shifts against the bedding beneath his shoulders. If it were anyone else, Dean is sure they’d look ridiculous. He thinks Cas looks positively adorable. “Depends on what you’re comfortable with.” The hunter replies as he trails a single finger down Dean’s chest.

Immediately, Dean mind is awash with flashes of images. Images of their bodies writhing together, adrift on some unseen wave. Images of his cock sliding slowly and surely into Cas. Images of Cas’ striking blue eyes looking up at him as he swallows Dean down. There so much that he wants and just one night to get it. When he’s finally able to gather his thoughts into a coherent sentence, Dean’s answer is simple. “... anything. Just… fuck, Cas… touch me, please.”

Wrapping his hand around Dean’s length with little to no preamble, Cas responds just a desperately. “God, don’t hold back....” He drags Dean down by his neck and kisses him sloppily. “I want to hear every little sound you make.”

It doesn’t take long. He’s been riding the edge since Cas had first touched him. Shuddering, Dean moans loud and long against his spit slick lips. Burying his his face in the hunter’s neck, he collapses against him and breathes out the aftershocks of his orgasm with deep, heavy breathes. His cum is slick between them where their bodies meet, Dean can’t remember feeling this good; at least not for a very long time.

Cas is combing his fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck… and humming. Chuckling, Dean noses at his jaw. “What song is that?” He whispers as he shift to curl under Cas’ arm.

Tightening his grip around Dean’s shoulder, Cas smiles. “Danse Russe.”

It’s nothing familiar so Dean leaves it at that. Silence blooms between them. Strangely enough, it doesn’t feel all that awkward. Yeah, they should probably get up at least clean himself off. Hell, maybe even take a shower. But, Dean is perfectly content to lay there in Cas arms until sleep takes him or morning comes.


	3. Chapter 3

Dean wakes to the sound of bacon sizzling and the aroma of coffee. He’s alone in Cas’ bed but from the sound and smell of things, that’s not necessarily a bad thing. How long has it been since he’d had an honest-to-God home-cooked meal? Two in less than twenty four hours was seriously going to spoil him for truck stop diners and convenience stores for a while. 

He stumbles around the room for a few moments until he finds his jeans and t-shirt. Pulling them on, Dean makes his way barefoot towards the kitchen.

“Morning.” Cas greets him from the stove. He hasn’t turned around to greet him yet but he looks pretty intent on the frying pans in front of him. There are two plates already on the counter; half filled with food.

Cas still isn’t wearing a shirt. Dean suddenly feels overdressed; especially when he notices the scars that cut and curl across the the hunter’s back and torso. He hadn’t seen them in the darkness of the bedroom the night before. They’re a testament to a job they share and suddenly Dean is unbelievably pissed that other hunters seem to write the Novaks off simply for choosing to reveal the truth to the civvies rather than hide it. “...morning.”

“Everything okay?” Cas halfway turns to look over his shoulder.

Sliding up behind him, Dean wraps his arms around Cas’ waist and settles his chin on his shoulder. “M’fine… not usually a morning person.” He mumbles. It’s not exactly a lie. Not really.

Cas laughs softly. “I didn’t used to be… lately, I find them invigorating.” He scoops up the bacon and places it on a plate next to a couple of fried eggs. “Then again… that could be the half hour every day on the treadmill.”

Groaning, Dean buries his face in Cas’ neck. “God, you’re one of those. Sammy is forever trying to haul my ass outta bed for a run, walk, or whatever.”

“Hmm, I’d rather haul your ass back to bed myself.” Cas teases. Dean snorts into his neck. Patting the top of his knuckles, Cas shifts out of his arms and retrieves the breakfast laden plates. “...table or couch?”

“Couch.” Dean immediately replies.

They settle into opposite ends of a well-worn sofa and tuck into their food. Dean scans the room as he eats. Every aspect of it tells a little more of Cas’ story. Just as the kitchen was, the living room is tidy and clean; the furniture is an array of patterns and quality. It’s homey. And truth be told, he’s curious about Cas. More curious than he had been the day before. There’s something about the hunter that Dean finds alluring. He can’t explain it. Like, he can’t explain how it’s actually weird how not weird it feels to be halfway through a slice of toast and catch Cas looking at him fondly. Like, how even though they just met yesterday there’s this easy connection between the two of them.

Cas is the one to finally break the silence. “...so, do you and your brother make it through Idaho often?”

“Sometimes… we don’t stick around anyplace very long. If we do we tend to work outta Sioux Falls.” Granted, there’s an entire state in between but it’s something and that’s why he mentions it. Dean leans over the edge of the couch and sets his plate on the floor before crawling up to sprawl against Cas. He knows he should get back to Sammy but he’s not exactly keen on leaving just yet. After all, it was because of Cas that he was even finished up this early with the job.. 

Mimicking Dean, Cas sets his plate on the floor. Wiggling up against him, he wraps his arms around Dean. “Seems really shitty to ask this now… but…” He caresses his fingers over the curve of his elbow. “What’s your last name?”

Dean huffs out a breathy chuckle. He’s been avoiding the big reveal, just in case, the entire time. If anything was shitty about the situation, it was his own choice to lie by omission. No matter how nice Cas seems, the fact remains that even though the Novaks might be outcasts… him and Sam, they were frickin’ notorious. “...Winchester.”

The fingers that had just begun to draw lazy patterns over his arms stills. “Huh.” Cas replies quietly. Dean doesn’t elaborate, he waits it out; waits out the rejection he knows is coming. At least, he’d managed to hold it off until the morning after. “You know, they talk about you.”

That actually throws him. “What? Who?”

“Y’know… the monsters.” Cas resumes the gentle circles he’d been drawing on Dean’s skin with his fingers. “...you two are their boogeyman.”

Scowling, Dean shifts into a more comfortable position against the hunter. It was unsettling to think of anything they killed as sentient enough to sit around the campfire or some shit telling stories about him and Sam. “Hmm.”

“That bothers you?”

Dean shrugs and stares at the ceiling. He can feel Cas’ chest rise and fall against his back. “Guess not… at least they know what they’re facing when they inevitably fuck up.” Now that he’s awake and fed, he’s starting to get stir crazy. Still, he doesn’t want to leave Cas’ arms. “It’s just… not all of them have been bad.”

Cas grips Dean’s chin and pulls his face towards his. There’s a look of pride left unspoken in his eyes. Dean finds himself wondering how easy it would be to lose himself in a life like this; still fighting the fight but coming home to something, to someone, more than his kid brother every night. He’s never not understood how Sam felt about Jess. It’s just now, he’s starting to get how hard it had to be to leave her the first time before yellow eyes had gotten to her… and he’s only just met Cas. 

The lazy kiss that follows is chaste in comparison to those from the night before. That doesn’t mean Dean doesn’t enjoy it. “...I thought you’d bolt or kick me out.”

“For what?”

“Being a Winchester.”

Snorting, Cas shakes his head. “Pot calling the kettle black... in a matter of speaking.”

“Maybe.” Dean admits. He wriggles around until he’s laying over Cas; their faces inches apart. When he swallows, his throat clicks. It’s not exactly the best time to be rendered speechless. But, he really doesn’t actually know what else he’d say. The fact is out there, at least, between them and he doesn’t have to be anybody but himself. 

Dean moves in slow enough to give Cas a chance to duck away from his advances. He doesn’t and that in itself makes Dean’s entire day. In fact, Cas meets him halfway. Kissing has always been one of Dean’s favorite pastimes; with Cas is no exception. The hunter’s hands, however, are. Inasmuch as he seems to be trying to allow Dean the illusion of control, the steady insistence of his hands --moving over, exploring, scraping and rubbing-- tell an entirely different story. 

They make out like that for well into an hour, lips and hands everywhere, before Cas is squirming out from under Dean. “I, uh, have some things to do in town.” He admits sheepishly. And that’s his queue to leave, Dean assumes as he nods. “You…” Cas pauses; a bashful grin on his face. “You’re more than welcome to join me.”

“What kind of things?” Dean asks with a smirk.

“Oh, nothing too exciting. Shopping mostly, lunch if you come with… might visit the family of one of the vics.”

A neutral expression sliding over his face, Dean stares intently at Cas for a moment. “You’re gonna, what, tell them you ganked a frickin’ Yeti?”

“Yeah. Pretty much.” Cas retrieves their plates from the floor and makes his way towards the kitchen. “So… you coming?”

Watching as Cas pads out of the room, Dean considers his options. If he leaves now, he could meet up with Sam by dinner time. Then, they could spend the evening bickering over whatever, new, half-assed spell or plot that his brother’s come up with. Then, he could hit a few bars and get wasted. 

Rinse. Wash. Repeat. 

Digging his phone out of his pant’s pocket, Dean types out a quick text to his brother. He leaves out the fact that the Wendigo was actually a Yeti, and worse, he leaves out the fact that it’s already a done deal. Sam knows he’s in Rexford and that he’s on a job. It’s good enough for now, anyway. 

***

Shopping, as it turns out, begins with a return trip to Bob Ward’s. Despite Dean’s protests, they leave with the Kukri and a few supplies Cas insisted he needed to replenish. They dump everything but the machete in the backseat of his Explorer. Smiling like the cat that got the canary, Cas leads Dean around the back of the vehicle flips open the hatchback window to reveal a reinforced black iron tool box. Upon further inspection, Dean notices black on black paint in the tell-tale patterns of a devil’s trap. Cutting his eyes at the hunter, Dean grins. “You show me yours, I’ll show you mine.”

Cas chuckles as he reaches in to unlock the case. It clicks open to reveal a reasonably impressive arsenal. Leaning in closer, Dean places the Kukri gently between what appears to be a brass axe and a silver railroad spike. “What’s that?” He motions towards the spike.

“You would notice that.” Color fills Cas’ cheeks almost immediately. Embarrassment flooding his face, he closes the toolbox with a sigh and squints at Dean. “...family heirloom.”

“Uh huh, what’s it doing in there? Don’t heirlooms normally belong…”

“...somewhere safe?” Cas finishes.

Pinching a face, Dean can’t deny that the logic isn’t sound. “You don’t want to tell me what it is…” He shifts into Cas’ personal space with a light laugh. 

“Hmm.”

“Or you do, but you think I’ll call you crazy?”

The look Cas gives him confirms Dean’s suspicions. “C’mon.” 

With a shake of his head, Cas shuts the window and makes his way to the driver’s seat. Dean has no other option but to follow suit and climb in the passenger side. Cas starts the car wordlessly and pulls out of the parking lot. They’re halfway across town going God knows where, when he finally speaks. “... my great-grandfather called it an Angel Blade.”

“Seriously?”

Cas licks his lips and nods. “Seriously.”

Dean nods but doesn’t reply right away. There are plenty of other explanations for what the weapon actually is, he’s sure. However, he’s not willing to throw that in Cas’ face. “Gift from the Angel’s his dad, or whatever, talked to, or something?”

“That’s the story.”

“Hmm.”

“Hmm?” Cas’ voice has an edge to it even he hums a response.

“Just hmm.” Dean turns in his seat to look at him. “Shit, man… half the stuff we deal with --hex bags, holy water, salt-- they make just as much sense. It’s... whatever. Interesting to know the history behind it.”

“You don’t believe it, though.” He counters.

Dean nods ever so slightly; it’s as much affirmation as he’s going to give. “Is that required?”

“Actually… no.” Cas shifts and curls his hand around the back of Dean’s neck; his thumb stroking the hairline. “You didn’t laugh, or jeer, or mock… it’s all good.”

Dean winks at him and presses into the hunter’s touch. He has half a mind to tell Cas about The Colt but then thinks better of it. The fewer people that know they have it, the better off him and Sammy are in the long run. Still, it would’ve been nice to share a secret like that; to share the privilege of owning something that was supposedly a myth. “So, where to now?”

“It’s still a bit early for lunch… was thinking about showing you Rexford’s shooting range.” Cas frowns as he takes a wide turn, forcing him to relinquish Dean’s neck momentarily, and heads towards a more sparsely populated part of town. “Unless that would feel a little too much like work…”

“Left my piece at your place.” Dean answers.

“I’m sure I have something you can use… so, is that a yes?”

Dean’s eyes scan the streets as they progress through Rexford. “Sure.”

Visibly relaxing, Cas drums out beat on the steering wheel as the scenery fades from houses to stables and finally to trees. They pull into a recreational area and pass a few state-ran campsites before the range comes into view. “... it’s probably pretty slow, considering everyone’s out trying to fill their tags.”

“Hunting season.” Dean chuckles as they pull to a stop.

“Right?!” Cas replies with a laugh on his lips. Dean glares at the sky as he climbs out of the Explorer. It’s not as cold out as yesterday, but there’s still a distinctly bitter bite to the morning air. He wasn’t built for this crap. Cas circles around the back of the car and reaches over his iron toolbox to pull out a small black duffel bag. “Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be…”

They trudge through snow pack and slush. It isn’t noticeably warmer inside the cement walls of the range, but at least it blocks the wind. Dean falls in step behind Cas as they approach the front desk. 

“Morning, Mr. Novak.” The guy says as he slides a registry book across the counter. He glances around Cas and gives Dean a once over. “Can I see some ID, son?”

Dean plasters on a friendly smile. “Sure can!” Digging out his wallet, he fishes out the driver’s license he’d been using after their run in with Henriksen in Colorado and hands it to him. 

“Fred Turner?”

“Yes, sir.” He can feel Cas’ gaze bearing down on him. It’s almost enough to make him squirm. But the last thing he needs right now is some dude working clerk duty at a shooting range to witness him getting squirrelly and calling in the po-po. “Do you need my credit card, too?”

Cas waves at the clerk who, in turn, shakes his head at Dean. “That won’t be necessary. Mr. Novak has an account.” 

His tone is clipped and Dean’s pretty sure that the guy would like nothing better than to bust his balls over his out of state license. Cas is pretty much the only reason he’s even being allowed and they all know it. “Thanks.” He says cheerfully when he’s handed back said license and directed to sign in. 

“Yeah.” Cas steps up beside him and quickly jots down his own information. “I’ll log you in to your usual spot.” The guy says and shuffles away with a unhappy grunt.

Much to Dean’s surprise, Cas reaches out and grabs his hand to lead him through the facility. Yeah, dude’s ballsy he admits to himself once again. That, or he’s out and the locals either accept or simply tolerate him. It’s unusual in Dean’s experience. But seeing as how he kinda likes Cas’ hand in his like this, on public display, he doesn’t pull away. “Friendly guy…” He mutters when they are out of earshot.

Chuckling, Cas places the duffle on the floor of the farthest stall from the door. “Fred?” He smirks and hands Dean a firearm and box of blanks.

“You always go by Cas?”

“Actually…” He does a quick inspection of his weapon before reaching for the protective ear wear. “Yeah.”

“How?!”

“How what?”

“How do you get the local law and civies to work with you?” The blank stare Dean is met with is truly baffling. Does Cas even involve the law? How does he crack cases? Where does he even get his job?

“...they contact me?” Cas replies hesitantly.

“Like above the board. Legit contact you?”

“Yeah?” Dean can’t help it, he gapes. He’s got to look like some kind of slack-jawed yokel. But, honestly, he can’t even fathom what Cas is telling him. People, what, hire him to hunt down the big, bad and the ugly? “How do you and your brother…?”

Clenching his jaw, Dean looks away embarrassed; suddenly self-conscious of his and Sammy’s upbringing. “Newspaper articles, local legends… sometimes someone we’ve helped gives someone our number.” 

“... you don’t get paid for it either, I take it?” Cas has paused with his ear wear halfway up to his head. He’s the one now gaping. Dean snorts at his question and focuses on inspecting his gun. “Must be hard making ends meet that way?”

“We get by.” Dean replies gruffly. He’s got his own protective ear wear on and is lining up for a shot when Cas hand gives his shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

They spend the next hour trying to outdo one another. As it turns out, Cas is almost as good of a shot as Dean. He can’t help but be impressed. Any lingering embarrassment or awkwardness from earlier has faded away. Instead, it’s replaced by a deep seated loneliness. Dean misses the days when him and Sam used to get caught up in the same type of thing; the ways they’d pass the times between jobs. He misses his brother. Sure, they’ve been in each other’s back pockets since his deal with the devil… but it had driven a wedge between them. There was a distance now where none had existed before after Sam had finally left Stanford for good. 

Cas must’ve noticed because he pulls Dean into a lingering hug outside of the car when they leave the range. He scatters kisses along his temple and in his hair until the cold becomes too much for either of them to bear standing still. “Hungry?” Cas asks in a quiet whisper.

He’s not really. For one, his mood has soured and if there is anything he’d rather do if he’s actually going through with staying another day or possible night with Cas… curling up in the walled confines of his house rather than around a restaurant table is far more appealing. He’s not going to admit that though. “Sure.” Dean replies; his voice muffled by Cas’ coat.

***

They do eventually end up back at Cas’ place. This time stretched out together across his bed. What had began as an intense make-out session had tapered off into quiet silence filled with the sounds of the television they’d left playing filtering through the open door. Cas, once again, has Dean’s hand in his own and his tracing the contours of his knuckles and fingers when he breaks the stillness. “...when you said you had months to live…” His grips tightens. “Are you sick?” When Dean doesn’t answer, Cas sighs softly. “Sorry, I know you said you didn’t want to talk about it… thought maybe it was because of…”

Dean shifts from his shoulder onto his back; he doesn’t remove his hand from Cas’... not yet. “I’m not sick.” I’m not even supposed to actually be alive. This is fixing our dad’s mistake. “... look, I know it’s selfish but I just don’t want to have to defend myself to you too.”

“Why would you have to defend anything… you’re the one dying, Dean?” Cas’ tone carries worry and confusion. 

How does he explain that since he sold his soul to save his baby brother; said baby brother has done nothing but try to find a loophole? That the easy relationship they’d once had is completely fubared at it’s his own damn fault. When the reaper had come to him back at the hospital, a lifetime ago, he should’ve let himself be taken. Their dad would’ve never had the chance to make a deal with yellow eyes. They’d both fucked with the natural order of things and now Sammy was paying the price. 

Rather than explain himself, Dean opts for the path he’s more familiar with. He doesn’t bolt, no matter how much he’d been considering it, instead he untangles himself from Cas’ grip and crawls over the hunter. Straddling the hunter’s lap; he rolls his hips once as if to test the waters before collapsing onto his hands for support. Cas, for what it’s worth, despite his obvious desire to incite a chick flick moment simply rolls with the turn of events. Hands drifting down to grip Dean’s hips, he thrusts tentatively up against him. 

Thankful for Cas’ allowance at the distraction, Dean leans down and captures his lips. Despite the obvious gender differences; this is familiar, this is safe. This doesn’t feel like he’s cutting himself open and letting every dark secret about himself ooze out of the wound. Cas isn’t gentle but he’s not overtly rough. It’s a striking parallel to how Dean usually handles himself in bed. He gets it and he allows for it; if only, to press back just as intensely. Cas really seems to like that; a fact that pleases Dean to no end. He’d worried that the hunter would treat him like something delicate or breakable… he wasn’t. Instead, he found himself manhandled just enough to want more.

***

“You’re leaving in the morning, aren’t you?” Cas is pressed up against the expanse of Dean’s back; his voice bouncing off of the lines of his shoulder.

As much as he wishes that he didn’t have to leave, Dean knows he has to get back to Sam. They have to let this thing run its course. Reaching down to where Cas’ hand is gripping his hip tightly, Dean covers it with his own. He means to answer honestly. He really does. “Ever heard of hellhounds?”

Cas stills behind him and immediately Dean wishes he could erase his words. “... the rumors are true then, about your brother?” Head spinning and anger quickly rising to color his cheeks, Dean jerks out of his embrace. “Or not…” Cas quickly adds. His eyes are flooded with confusion and definitely tapered with what can’t be denied is fear.

“Yeah, how about not.” Dean reaches for his boxers and jeans. He doesn’t get very far. Cas’ arms wrap about his middle and hold him solidly to the bed. “Get off me.” Dean warns with a snarl edging into his voice.

“Give me a break, Dean… I barely pick up on what’s being said out there. If I got something wrong, I’m sorry. Just… come back to bed… if you really want to leave, you can do it in the morning”

“If you’re one of the dicks that thinks my brother is… I can’t…”

“I didn’t say I thought anything. I just asked…”

“Yeah…” Dean fumes. “You asked if that shit was true.”

“Yeah… asked.” Cas’ hands are on his back now sliding cautiously over bare skin. “So, if it’s not… tell me about him. You obviously miss your brother”

“And you don’t yours?”

“Not so much… I mean, he’s a decent guy. I just have never been one for all the religious hoopla.”

“Yeah, cuz those exorcisms never work.”

“Don’t be facetious or I will kick your ass out in the middle of the night.”

Deflating, Dean sighs. It’s obvious that Cas is genuine; that he doesn’t assume everything he hears to be the God’s honest. And really, how many guys have spouted off shit about Sammy at him? This is the first time that he’s gotten so pissed about it. That had to mean something, though, he wasn’t altogether too sure what. Shifting to sit cross-legged across from Cas, Dean grabs his hand and intertwines his fingers. A blush rises to his cheeks at his actions, not to mention the fact that they’re both still naked, but it’s the only way he knows to apologize. He figures that if it’s worked with women, it has a slight chance of working on Cas. “Sam’s a good guy.” Dean starts off softly. “The best kind of guy… shit, compared to him I’m an ass.”

“Just compared to him?” Cas cuts in with a sneer.

Ignoring the interruption as well as the implication, Dean continues. “He’s selfless, thoughtful, caring.” He draws a circle over Cas’ knuckles with his thumb. “...everything I’m not.”

“Dean…”

“I couldn’t let him die… it should’ve been me.”

And like that, the cat’s out of the bag. There’s a heavy pause. Cas sits up properly; his grip tightening around Dean’s hand. He’s a smart guy, it won’t take him long to put two and two together. Cas’ voice is full of sorrow when he finally speaks. “You made a deal to save your brother’s life.” It’s a statement, not a question. He doesn’t wait for Dean’s response. “... those are ten year contracts. How old were you two when…”

Cutting him off, Dean shakes his head. “I didn’t get ten. I got one.” No explanation. He supposes one isn’t all that necessary considering even as cut off from hunters as the Novaks apparently were, Cas had heard of the Winchesters.

Cas pales at the revelation. Reaching up with his free hand, he cups Dean’s cheek. He caresses the chiselled edge of his jaw with his fingertips until he’s finally able to find his voice. “What can I do to help?”

“You want to help… me?”

“Is that such a surprise?”

“Uh, yeah. You’ve met me, right?” He aims for levity; for a distraction from the path their conversations have decided to follow.

“And then some.” He shoots back trying to match Dean’s own teasing tone; even if it doesn’t match the atmosphere. Cas retracts his hand from Dean’s and brings it to the other side of his face. “I mean it. What can I do to help?”

“... come with me.”

Cas startles at the request. He tilts his head to the side and tries to take in as much as he can of Dean’s body language in an attempt to understand the abrupt appeal. “Dean?”

“Months, Cas.” He reminds the hunter in an anguished tone. “If I leave… and you stay. Fuck knows if I’ll make it back before…”

“You barely know me.” Cas protests; the press of his fingertips on Dean’s skin intensifies.

“And it’ll stay that way if you…” Dean pulls back enough to escape Cas’ hands on his face. “Nevermind. Stupid idea.” His eyes dart back down to their clothes which are still scattered across the floor. He sighs.

“Okay.”

“What?”

Cas is curling his hands over the angle of Dean’s knee; not quite grasping but not quite letting go either. “Okay. I’ll come with…”

“Why?”

“Other than because you asked?” He sputters.

“Yeah.”

Cas swallows. “I’m supposed to come up with a better reason than… a dying man’s wish?”

***

“You’re sure about this?” Dean asks as they pause on the porch to lock the front door of Cas’ house. The guy has at least two suitcases full of clothes and another full of books; not to mention the arsenal they’d raided from his Explorer.

Cas nods as he pats the chest of his coat. “We’ve got a plan for me getting back to Rexford…” He lets the sentence fade away in his throat. “Pat from the sporting good store is going to drive by at least once a week to check on the house.” Reaching down, he takes two of the suitcases in hand. “Let’s do this.”

Leaning into Cas’ space, Dean steals a quick kiss from him. He’s nervous as hell bringing the guy home to Sammy. It’s not like he truly believes his kid brother will take issue with the fact that Cas is clearly a guy. Shit, he probably won’t take all that much issue with Dean deciding to up and invite him along out of the god damn blue. It’s the sad, pitying look he’s going to receive when Sam figures out that Dean’s pretty much in love with the guy. But if he’s learned anything growing up a hunter, it’s that you don’t take shit for granted because you never know when you’ll breath your last. 

Dean picks up Cas’ remaining suitcase and heads towards the Impala. “You like Zeppelin, right?” He asks with a wide smile as they stow Cas’ luggage and slides into the front seat.


	4. Epilogue

It had never occurred to him to protest his orders. Even as his garrison descended into the pit, Castiel moved with an intense focus. Save the righteous man. He’s all too aware of the agony and suffering as they delve further into the pit, still it doesn’t cause him to falter. There were to be no distractions or they would never succeed.

The righteous man is nothing Castiel had expected. He’s cold fury. He’s untempered hate. He’s… surprisingly noble and selfless once you manage to push past the poison the minions of hell have forced through and into the weakest parts of his spirit.

Grasping the tortured soul’s arm, Castiel allowed his grace to begin to heal the man even as he spread his wings and raised their now joined bodies through the abyss. He allowed the creature’s human memories to seep into his own thoughts as its skin began to heal and flesh started to weave itself back together. 

When a familiar lineage appeared, Castiel nearly dropped his charge. Prophecy hadn’t prepared him for this event. His pedigree, the bloodline intended as Castiel’s earthly vessel, was bonded to this damned soul. The exaltation he felt at this revelation shouldn’t be. However, it is. It was. And, it always will be.


End file.
